The Iron Howl rattled violently as it skidded across the jagged dirt road of the Rustworn Basin, steam hissing from the undercarriage. Kaen slammed a fist against the dashboard.
“She’s gonna blow if we keep pushing it like this!” he growled.
Ryker leaned forward, squinting through the windshield. The air shimmered with heat, and the horizon was buried under a cloud of dust and metallic ruin. Their route through the wastelands had led them straight into the heart of Geargrave—a place few dared to tread.
“Keep her steady,” Ryker said. “We just need to make it past those wrecked towers.”
But the moment the words left his mouth, the Iron Howl choked, coughed, and gave out with a sputtering whine. The engine belched black smoke, and the whole vehicle tilted sideways before slamming to a stop in the rusted dust.
“Damn it…” Kaen muttered.
Kess climbed out the back, brushing silver sand from her boots. “We’re lucky it didn’t explode. Dominion ruins mess with tech. This whole place is crawling with interference.”
Ryker stepped out, eyes locked on the skeletal remains of colossal machines dotting the landscape—cranes fused with cannons, tanks overgrown with dry vines, and towers bent at impossible angles. He could feel it—this place watched them.
“Let’s find someone who can fix this heap,” he said.
---
They followed the melted path of treadmarks and twisted metal deeper into the scrapyard. Drones buzzed above them, silent as ghosts, occasionally blinking red.
“Feels like a damn trap,” Kaen said, hand on his chain-hook.
Kess nodded. “It probably is.”
A sudden whir-click echoed above. A cannon-arm unfolded from a half-buried turret and launched a net of electrified cables. Ryker ducked, rolled, and ignited his palm with Emberforce. The cables disintegrated midair.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Definitely a trap,” he muttered.
From the high wall of junk ahead, a voice called out, metallic and erratic.
“Who dares enter the sovereign domain of The Gear Prophet? State your intentions before I deploy the Murder Drones!”
Ryker cupped his hands. “Looking for parts. And someone who knows how to fix an ancient engine drive.”
There was a pause, followed by a loud clang, and then a section of the junk wall shifted. A door slid open with a hiss, revealing a boy no older than seventeen—wild hair streaked with neon blue, goggles glowing over wide eyes, and arms covered in grease and mechanical braces.
“You’re bounty-walkers?” he asked suspiciously. “You stink of rebellion and bad decisions.”
Ryker smirked. “I’m Ryker Vale.”
The boy’s goggles retracted with a mechanical click. His eyes widened. “The Sovereign Flame?! You’ve got a ten-thousand Mark bounty!”
“Still low, honestly.”
The boy blinked, then grinned manically. “You’re in!”
---
Inside the bunker, gears churned and lights blinked from every surface. The lab was both sanctuary and warzone. Half-built exosuits, spider-legged drones, and ticking bombs filled every corner.
“I’m Arlo,” the kid said, handing Kaen a drink that promptly exploded in smoke. “I build stuff. Stuff that usually works. I used to make machines for the Dominion… before I escaped.”
Kess eyed him. “You were one of their war engineers?”
“Child prodigy. They wanted me to build weapons that could think. I ran before they could dissect my brain.”
Ryker looked around. “You’ve turned this junkheap into a fortress. Impressive.”
“Thanks,” Arlo beamed, then frowned. “But I’ve also accidentally awakened a Death-Class Proxy Bot. So, y’know... good news and bad news.”
---
From the deep below, a mechanical roar thundered through the ground. Dust fell from the ceiling. A red alarm blinked across the lab’s walls.
Arlo turned pale. “Okay, very bad news. It’s a Dominion relic. Still active. It kills anything flagged as ‘Sovereign-coded.’”
Kaen growled. “And guess who’s literally branded with that.”
The crew sprinted out of the bunker as the ground cracked open. Rising from beneath the junk was a towering war-machine—six legs, a spinning core of red plasma, and a face like a burning skull.
“Engaging Sovereign Targets,” it droned.
Ryker grinned. “Well… it’s been a while since we had a proper warm-up.”
---
Ryker dashed forward, igniting his Flame Gauntlet. He ducked beneath the machine’s plasma swipe and delivered a fiery uppercut, forcing it back. Kaen lashed his hook-chains around a leg joint, pulling with all his strength to unbalance it. Kess blurred into motion, slashing across its sensory nodes with surgical precision.
Arlo ran from cover to cover, tapping on a device. “Just need ten seconds to override its control module!”
“Make it five!” Kaen yelled, dodging a blade-arm.
“Fine! I like a challenge!”
The Proxy Bot lunged toward Ryker. He planted both feet and poured every ounce of Emberforce into his fist.
“Ashfire Barrage!” he roared.
Explosions rippled through the bot’s armor.
In the final second, Arlo leapt onto the back of the bot, slamming his override into the port. “Night-night, Rustface!”
The machine fizzled, sparked… and collapsed into a heap.
---
Panting, the crew stood over the wreckage.
“That,” Ryker said, “was fun.”
Arlo sat on a chunk of metal, sweat pouring down. “You guys are insane. I like it.”
Ryker offered his hand. “Come with us. Build things that don’t try to kill us for once.”
Arlo hesitated, then grinned. “Only if I get to install a missile launcher on your car.”
Kaen laughed. “Deal.”
---
Back on the Iron Howl—now upgraded with boosters and armor plating—the crew drove out of Geargrave.
A transmission blinked to life in a shadowy command center. A Dominion officer in a porcelain mask viewed the footage of Ryker’s crew.
“Activate Protocol Leviathan,” the officer said coldly. “The Sovereign Flame must be extinguished.”
And thus, the fires of rebellion continued to grow.
